


Always Find Each Other

by LadyAuroraStars



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Lydia is as fab as always, Oneshot, Panic Attacks, Soulmates, Soulmates always find each other, fluffy with a side of angst, plane!au, stiles is an author, warning, who writes about werewolves? in highschool?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 12:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7845685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAuroraStars/pseuds/LadyAuroraStars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. <br/>Stiles takes a flight home and meets a certain strawberry blonde.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Find Each Other

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is a long time coming. I have wanted to write about this ship for YEARS but have just never done it. So, yay for another oneshot of a ship on my long to-do list!  
> Hope you all enjoy this little AU. 
> 
> Also, a beta's eyes have not fallen onto the pages of this writing. I am sorry.

He hears her before he sees her, the strong voice carrying across the room to his ears. He sees her while standing at the check in line, the strawberry blond hair caught his eye first. The way the color caught the light in the harsh, bright lights. She’s propped against the counter speaking rather loudly to the woman on the other side of it. She’s small wrapped in a puffer jacket, with a scarf that matches her boots. He’s just far enough away to not be able to hear the woman’s answer to her loud voice.

“I have never had this problem before, I fly all the time and this is ridiculous! If you cannot do your job then get someone out here that can!” She feels… familiar. The stance of her body, the shade of her hair, the air around her was something he had experienced before but not recently.

The young child in line behind him starts to cry in a muffled disturbance to everyone around them, it causes him to flinch.

Glancing down at his wrist watch he notices that the woman had been standing at the counter for almost fifteen minutes, he also notices his shaking hands. When he glances back up at the counter the woman is gone, nowhere in sight as though she had disappeared into thin air. The older man who had been in line behind her was now at the counter.

Stiles rubs a shaking hand over his eyes, maybe the sleepiness surrounding his mind had impaired his vision and the young woman was actually in her nineties and her hair was wig. That would make sense. She was a figment of his imagination. _Common Stiles who fantasies about someone who they have only seen the back of? Crazy people, that’s who! Your mom tells you you’re not crazy- She used to tell you that._

He debates on going to the bar, but alcohol doesn’t help anxiety according to his doctor. Neither does caffeine. So instead he sips his hot tea as he tries to keep his eyes awake, desperately searching for the right words in the paragraph that sits on the page in his notebook, the same words he has been searching for over the last two months. _Strawberry blonde._ He gets nowhere and before he knows it three a.m comes around.

He tries to not touch anyone’s shoulder as he makes his way down the long, thin isle. He makes it a point to not make eye contact with anyone, even though there are only three other people sitting down. An elderly couple and a young boy with head phones covering his ears. He searches out the emergency exists and the bathroom while finding his seat. His seat is close to neither, and that only adds to the aching feeling in his chest.

He takes his seat, leans his head back and wills his hands to stop shaking, his body does not listen to him. The air is already too thin, and he thinks about all the possible outcomes, a voice in the back of his head telling him there is only one, inevitable death because we all die sometime and who says tonight is not your night.

His tugs his hair, wishing his shaking would stop, he tries his best to take deep breaths even though he can barely pull air into his body, and his legs go numb so quickly that he can’t help but notice yet they still shake.

“Excuse me?” A small voice fills his ears, and his eyes automatically open meeting the ceiling.

Great, he thinks, he had scared someone. He turns his head dramatically, still unable to feel his legs, or breathe correctly and is met with large green eyes. She doesn’t look scared nor does she look annoyed but simply concerned. Her large white puffer jacket is still tucked around her, and her bright red hair is pulled atop her head.

“Are you okay? Would you like to sit next to the larger window?” She asks him, not one shred of judgment lacing her voice.

It takes him a moment to find the words, to find the oxygen. He glances around noticing three people, and two flight attendants. Four emergency exists on the small plane.

“No. Thank you, that’s nice but I’m alright.” He tells her, turning his head forward looking at the tattered seat in front of him.

“Ok.” Is all she says but he can practically feel her large, green eyes on him. “I just know that when you have panic attacks on planes the window can sometimes help.”

_Panic attack_. Well, he hadn’t gotten to it yet, but it was sitting just under the surface causing his legs to go numb.

“Keep your seat. I’m just not good at flying and extra stress doesn’t help.” He informs her, barely noticing the bite to his tone.

She notices. “Alright, well if you need any help I’m Lydia.” She throws him a small smile before reaching into a small bag and pulling out a laptop.

_You didn’t introduce yourself_. A small voice in his mind tells him.

His new neighbor for the nine-hour plane ride starts typing loudly against the laptop keys, giving him something to focus on as they sit there waiting for take-off. She types fast, with a purpose sometimes hitting the backspace so many times he loses count. He’s almost jealous of her typing, the way that words flow from her with no trouble, the way they used to flow from him. The plane is almost silent aside from her typing when the flight attendant announces she is going over safety precautions.

Even as the flight attendant informs them of the emergency exists, floating seats, and what to do if the plane loses air the loud typing does not stop. As the plane takes off and he has to grab at his chest with shaking hands he starts to once again question why it is that he is a grown man and still cannot fly in a plane like a regular person. The typing does not stop until he suddenly is unable to control himself.

“Stiles.” He blurts out into the somewhat quiet of the plane.

She doesn’t glance up from the laptop screen but the typing does pause. “What the hell is a Stiles?” She asks rather loudly with a shake of her head, her nose wrinkling.

_You’re an idiot._ “That’s-that’s me. My name. Stiles.”

She turns to look at him, almost sheepish. “Unique name.”

He nods and returns his gaze to the back of the seat in front of him.

When the flight attendant walks past him with a trolley he passes on a drink. When the tall blonde flight attendant stops by the young women across from him, Lydia? She had said her name was Lydia. The flight attendant called her by name, asked her how she was and if she wanted a green tea.

“Extra honey, right?” The flight attendant asks with a smile.

Lydia who had finally stopped her loud, aggressive typing nods and returns the smile. “Always.”

As she reaches for the steaming cup of tea her green eyes meet his, and for a second he stops breathing all together, but he can feel his toes so that’s a good thing.

“Why are you extra stressed?” Lydia questions him with curious eyes.

He notices his notebook lying beside his feet, the pen long gone, lost somewhere. He had barely felt it slip from his fingers, he wiggles his toes, and once again checks his watch. They had only been on the plane forty-five minutes. “Because today is the anniversary of my mother’s death, and I am returning home. But I was trying to plan a wedding and make her happy and trying to write a shitty follow-up novel that I had almost forgotten and so I had to book this God awful flight back home to visit my dad.”

She blinks once, takes a sip of her tea, and meets his eyes once again. “I’m sorry, about your mother.”

He just nods, because that what people always say. “Why does the flight attendant know your name?” He questions.

She looks over at her laptop, placing her tea beside it. “Because I fly this exact flight about four times a month.” She informs him but adds nothing more.

She glances down at her hands and then throws him a small smirk. “Work. I attend conferences and meetings in New York but live in my childhood home. So, right now there is a lot of traveling.”

Her hometown…he can’t help but wonder what town that is. _But, is asking too creepy? Yes, Stiles asking the random nice beautiful girl on the airplane where she grew up sounds like something a serial killer would do._

“What do you do?” He asks her because he feels like that is more of a polite question than asking about where she lives.

Her eyes follow her smile, they fill up with this look of passion, and her green eyes fill with a joy that he is currently separated from. “I’m a mathematical chemist. I work at UCLA.”

_That’s so hot._ “Impressive.” Is all he says.

“You’re a writer?” She asks glancing down at the notebook at his feet.

He hesitates. Is he a writer? Is he really an author if he can’t find his characters again? If he’s almost six months past a publishing deadline? If the characters just left his mind and never looked back? If he hates his book for making him seem like something he’s not? Do all those things make him a writer or a loser? 

“I am.” He confirms, “Well, I’ve written one novel.” He clarifies not wanting to come off as though he is some big shot. “It was small, and not the best but now I am working on a damned sequel that is never going to get finished.”

She listens contently in a way that makes him feel as though she is really listening, as though she cared about what he was saying.

“Why won’t it get finished?” She turns her whole body his direction now, she’s practically leaning into the aisle.

He runs a hand over his shaved head, glancing at the elderly couple at the front of the plane, they are holding hands and filling out a crossword.

_Why won’t your book get finished, Stiles? Why?_

“Well,” He tries to explain. “When I wrote my first novel I was in a place in life where my inspiration was ignited. I had a muse and I was able to follow all the lines, the entire outline and sitting down and writing it just felt right. Everything fell into place, this time… not so much. It feels as though something is missing. My story currently needs a hero, and sadly she is not in the pages yet. ” He admits for the first time since he started writing.

She simply nods, and it’s as though she understands. “That sounds awful. My career is my life, and I can’t imagine not being able to find a way around a problem like that.”

_It is awful,_ he thinks. It’s also awful that when she picks up her tea he noticed the ring that dresses her left hand, big, bright and sparkly. 

“It was called The Connection.” He says quietly, thinking back to his first novel.

_Dedicated to my Malia_ decorates the insides of the novel.

She gasps and her face turns a light red as she chokes on her tea, turning in his direction with big eyes. “The Connection?” She questions, “That novel that broke all those New York Times bestsellers records about the werewolves in the high school?”

Werewolves in the high school. That was what his novel had been broken down to, the novel that held his blood sweat and tears as it searched for a way to show how humanity deals with losing things are close to them. Werewolves in the high school.

“Yes. That’s it.”

She runs a napkin over her plump mouth, “I adored that novel. Well, my best friend she really loved that novel, almost obsessive but she made me read it.” Her flustered tone almost helps him relax as her voice drifts in and out of a pitch so high he is pretty sure a dog would be annoyed.

Her once bright pink lips are simply nude now, an almost rose petal pink, as though she had just been kissed passionately.

“Do you-“She almost laughs, “Do you believe in that kinda stuff? Soulmates, and finding the perfect match, all that?” She curiously asks him.

He glances down at his empty ring finger, “I do. I mean, I believe that we have someone who we are destined to be with, who always find each other. Two people that are the perfect combination. That person who can truly devastate you, someone who finds you no matter what, no matter who you are, no matter what life. Someone that you have an emotional tether to.”

Every once and a while he has to remind himself of that, that he truly believes that. It’s why he let her go because even the worst things did not devastate him. That’s why he didn’t fall into a dark whole after Malia left because he knew that they were not the perfect combination. She was not his true love.

“That’s kinda beautiful.” She says around a tight smile and sad eyes.

_Don’t be weird Stiles,_ “Is your husband your soulmate?” He asks her as a shade of red covers his face, _What a spaz you are Stiles, why the hell would you ask that?_

“Um,” She furrows her brow, a little line appearing in the middle of her forehead, “He, he- he passed away about three years ago.” She traces a finger over the diamond of the ring.

“Sorry to hear that.” It was actually almost a relief.

Stiles glances down at his watch out of habit, he runs a hand over his chin, and pulls on his sweatshirt string. He knows that he should pick up his notepad, start writing whatever comes to mind but just the thought makes his heart speed up a little faster, and really he knows the only thing he would be able to write about would be strawberry blonde hair.

“You know I have a theory about that.” He says quietly gaining her attention once more.

She raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, and he continues. “It was supposed to be in the first novel but the editor thought it took up too much space.” He tugs on his earlobe, “So, I think that when your soulmates, two people who know they are really truly meant to be, and then one dies by- however, it means that the person left still living has more than one soulmate.” He explains, almost worried about whether or not he is crossing some line that he was unaware of when her face starts to scrunch. “I- I think when that first soulmate dies then the one still living is given a blessing, saying it’s okay, go find your second. Does that make sense? It’s basically the world saying you are going to love two people, maybe in two very different ways but that both are okay and both are meant to be.”

When he stops rambling about dead soulmates he realizes she had stopped looking at him, her gaze was cast towards his feet and she sat silent. He didn’t know if he should pass out or throw up but either way her green eyes had yet to meet his again, and he’s pretty sure that he just blew any chance of having a decent conversation with her.

To his surprise, she lifts her eyes to his, “I’m pretty sure you lost me on the whole soulmate thing. It’s probably best you left that out of the novel.”

He nods, “Yeah.” 

He keeps his eyes on the back of the chair, and she goes back to her typing. They stay silent, as though they had never spoken to one another. That was his fault. But, he is Stiles and Stiles can’t help himself from asking the burning question.

“Where is home? Your hometown?” _God, why do you keep pushing?_

She sighs loudly before turning back to him. “Beacon Hills. That’s my hometown.” She says sharply before turning back around to her laptop.

Beacon Hills. “No shit.” He says a little louder than was meant.

Lydia can’t help herself, her curiosity getting the best of her she turns back to the man. “What?”

He has a small smirk on the side of his face, “Beacon Hills, that’s where I’m from. It’s where I’m going.” He informs her, feeling a little full of himself.

She simply looks at him, as though she’s in deep, though, calculating something. “No shit.” She whispers.

 “My dad’s actually the sheriff.” Stiles tells her, his brown eyes searching her face.

“Why haven’t we met before then?” Lydia questions him, as though she’s worried he just became some creepy stalker.

“I- I didn’t grow up there really. After my mom died, I- my dad sent me to boarding school. So I spent summers there every other year or so.”

“Interesting.” Is all she says before turning back to acting as though he is not sitting across from her.

When he wakes up its hot, too hot. A thick air around his head and his chest is tight. It takes him a moment to realize he’s gasping for breath. He grasps the window beside his head, but he’s on a plane and windows don’t open when you’re flying 30,000 miles above the ground. His head is going to explode. His eyes are going to burst from his head. His left-and pounds on his chest and all he can imagine is the plane in a downward spiral.

“Stiles!” Lydia shouts, flinging herself into the aisle when she realizes the gasping noise is from the man the row over. “Stiles breathe!”

She grasps his hand, and the flight attendant behind her is panicking, asking what she should do, and suddenly the tall women disappears.

Lydia looks around the dark cabin of the plane, and then looks back to Stiles who is grasping for breath, his wide eyes whirling around in all directions nonstop.   _Damnit_ _Think Lydia_ , she curses to herself.

It’s a motion that she doesn’t even think through before she does it, and suddenly she is grasping his face in her hands and softly placing her lips onto his. She does it because it’s the only thing she can remember fully about helping Panic Attacks- _it has nothing to do with wanting to kiss this handsome, nerdy stranger she had just had an odd encounter with, it was about helping him. About making sure he didn’t pass out on an airplane. That would just be a disaster. Just hold your breath, don’t be stupid._

His lips are soft, and all of his tense muscles relaxed when their lips meet. She only put a slight pressure on them, as though she was giving CPR. However, it Lydia that feels stunned when she gets a serious case of Déjà vu. I sense washes over her and she can see herself, playing out a scene almost identical to this one, as though it had happened before in another life. The most brominate thing about it though is that Stiles is there, with her and she feels more than worried. She feels as though if he doesn’t start breathing again she might stop breathing too.

And he does. She pulls away and waits for him to respond in some way that assures her that he isn’t going to start hyperventilating again. He opens his eyes, and the storm that had been in them before was gone. A stillness washes over him, and she lets out a sigh of relief as Stiles soft brown eyes stare at her.

The sound of the flight attendant behind her causes Stiles eyes to leave her green ones.

“Sir are you okay? Oh my god! Do you need anything?” The flight attendants loud voice floods over them as her hands fly around Stiles as though she is trying to find a way to help.

Stiles tries sitting up a little straighter and works to regain his bearings. “I’m alright. Should be fine now, thank you.”

The flight attendant scurries away after reminding him to let her know if he needs any assistance again. His eyes don’t leave Lydia’s however as she stays seated beside him in the middle seat.

“How’d you do that?” He asks her curiously, but not ungrateful.

She runs her tongue over her bottom lip, and rings her hands together in her lap. “I- um, read once that, um holding your breath can stop a panic attack.” She explains, now almost embarrassed of her actions. “When I kissed you, you held your breath.”

He runs his fingertips over his lips absentmindedly, “I did?” He questions her, not fully remembering anything that had happened during the attack but remembering the feeling that washed over him when he felt the pressure of her lips, like he had lived that moment before and Lydia had been there.

“Yeah, you did.” She smiles slightly around her words, her eyes a little teary and just grateful that she had not just watched this man die.

He squeezes her hand, which he still has not let go of. “Thank you, for the quick thinking.”

She simply just nods, and slowly let’s go of his hand, returning to her seat.  

They don’t talk anymore after that. Lydia doesn’t go back to typing away on her laptop instead she closes it and her eyelids follow. Stiles however takes a few extra deep inhales and exhales before picking up his notebook and asking the flight attendant for a pen.

By the time they land at the airport the top of the pen is chewed off, and Stiles had filled have his notebook. Lydia however wakes with a jump of the plane hitting the ground. Her husband’s eyes haunting her dreams.

As she stands up to reach for her overhead bag two arms appear beside her head, and lift her bag over her. She turns standing chest to chest with Stiles whose eyes look clearer than before, and she smiles when he hands her the bag, and grins.

“Thanks.” She says while taking the bag from him. “Are you okay?”

He simple nods, “I am now.”

He still hasn’t let go of her bag, and it stays beside them as both their hands grip it.

“Well, enjoy your time with your dad. And have a safe flight back home.” Lydia tells him, and he drops the bag letting her walk down the aisle, and past the waiting flight attended.

He can’t help but wonder if she feels what he feels. This intense pull in her direction, as though…as though an invisible tether connects them.

He walks past the main gate, and sees her there waiting on a car. He walks up and casually stands beside her, looking out into the early crisp morning. He feels when she glances over at him, and he side eyes her with a small grin.

“So, I was thinking since you liked the first so much maybe you would like to read my sequel, tell me if its total shit or if it has a chance.” Stiles voice holds a faux confidence to it, inside he’s hoping she doesn’t think he’s insane.

She turns her whole body towards him, her eyes squinting up at him. “I thought you were lacking a plot.”

His grin becomes even wider, “I – I was but I found it.”

“When did you do that?” She questions.

His grin drops, and his eyes meet hers. “During my panic attack.”

She still doesn’t know what to believe. “Hmm, and what’s it about may I ask?”

“Werewolves, soulmates and reincarnation.” Stiles informs her as he pulls out the notebook from his backpack, handing her the filled pages.

“You wrote this on the plane?” Every single page of the notebook is full of scribbled writing and dark marks.

“I was inspired and had a few hours.” He thumbs the pages she’s looking at. “Let me know what ya think.” He says before walking off to his dad’s police car that’s parked out in the far parking lot.

Lydia stands there, and can’t help but feel as though she has watched him do that more than once.

 


End file.
